


A Soldier's Wife

by FortuitousOccurrence



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortuitousOccurrence/pseuds/FortuitousOccurrence
Summary: Mrs. Jessamine Leighton scarcely knew the colonies before her husband died at Bunker Hill, leaving her alone at the beginning of the war. Still a young woman, she tried to make her way in the world through her husband’s business, but upon tiring of New York, she ventured to stay with a friend on Long Island in the autumn of 1777 in a little fishing village called Setauket. It is there that she meets the Captain John Graves Simcoe, a bold and confident man at the center of the small town’s conflict, with which she becomes intertwined.





	1. Part One

###  York City, March, 1775. 

A young man pulled on his uniform coat, bright red and stark white, standing tall in front of the mirror in his bedroom. He picked up his musket and held it beside him, shoulders held straight and his chin parallel to the floor. A smile tried to peek into his expression but disappeared when he saw his wife standing behind him. He relaxed his stance as he set down his firearm where it had been leaning against the chest of drawers. His wife stood by their bed, unmoving and holding a handkerchief she’d been embroidering in front of her. He wanted her to move, to say something, although he doesn’t know what he’d want her to say.  _ Good luck?  _ or perhaps _ Please don’t go.  _ They all seemed rather cliché and altogether wrong. The two of them had already made plans for any eventualities. They had talked about the possibilities and the reasons these choices were being made. 

It didn’t change the fact that this was painful, more painful for her, he thought, though he wouldn’t admit it. 

“How does the uniform feel?” she asked finally, trying to maintain at least a veneer of a pleasant attitude. 

“It fits better than expected. The coat looked too big but it will do fine,” he answered turning to face her. “Is that for me?” He pointed to the handkerchief in her hands. 

“Yes,” she smiled a little and stepped closer to him. She unfolded the handkerchief to show it to him. On one corner a small red rose with a few leaves and on the opposite corner his initials, _ B.E.L., _ Benjamin Ephraim Leighton _.  _ He surrounded her hands with his own. 

“Thank you, my dear.” His smile grew large enough that you could see his dimples in his cheeks as he looked at his wife. She did not look back at him, instead staring at their hands holding her handiwork between them. It wasn’t clear to her husband if it was because she was afraid that he would speak of his departure or the growing conflict that sparked his enlistment, or to simply avoid his eyes. He knew though, it could very well be a combination of those reasons. Still, he did not want to leave without looking into her eyes again. 

He pushed a few wisps of hair back from her face, tucking them behind her ear. With his hand, he continued to cradle her head, with the other he grasped her hand and the handkerchief. With gentle encouragement, she let him pull her close, her face against his chest. She closed her eyes, relishing the safety of this familiar place. She knew he closed his eyes too, savoring the moment alone as he pressed his cheek to her hair and squeezed her hand in his.  

“Jess,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I know you have never felt as strongly as I have-” 

“Ben,” she interjected, opening her eyes.

“Please, Jess,” he began again, “Know that I have cared for you quite ardently these last years. I have loved you, perhaps since I met you.” 

“Please don’t talk like I’ll never see you again,” she paused, knowing he had reason to speak that way. “You’ll come back and buy out Townsend for his share of the inn and we’ll continue on as we have.”

“I know,” he submitted to his wife’s wishful thinking. 

“Be safe,” he moved to hold her at arm’s length, looking to her face. 

“Be brave and be smart,” she finally looked up at him. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t come back.”  

The gong of the church bells rang through the window, signalling midday. Ben released his wife from his hands and picked up his hat and musket. She held out the handkerchief and after restoring the smile on his face, he slid his wife’s gift into his coat pocket. Trying her best, she reciprocated his smile. He tried to memorize her face in this last moment. The chestnut waves of her hair and the bits that just wouldn’t be tamed. Her rosy lips. Her sorrowful, hazel eyes.  This was the woman he loved, that he married, and that he left behind. 

###  Long Island, October, 1777.

Leaves drifted down from the trees, floating for moments in the crisp breeze. Mrs. Leighton closed her eyes and relished the warm sun on her face, a brief reprieve from the chilly autumn air before she was shadowed again by trees on the road to Setauket. A single horse and simple cart carried her and her baggage down Long Island to her destination. Since her husband’s death two years before, she sold her husband’s share in their inn in York City. She was at this time a moderately wealthy widow, able to do as she pleased but she felt lost. For the first time in her life, she had no one to look after, or to look after her. Her parents were both gone for several years and now her husband has died in the service of their king. After taking her time to grieve and discover that she hadn’t the desire to continue her husband’s business, she travelled to visit a dear friend who had recently given birth to her fourth child and had remained quite weak and in need of help with her household responsibilities. 

Even this sleepy little fishing village had been touched by the war with the recent skirmish with the rebels, now being called the Battle of Setauket. She had heard a little of it from her friend though neither woman had witnessed it.  Her friend’s husband blames dissidence within the British military presence in town. There was also talk of hidden rebel spies within the town, but neither story seemed to entirely add up. It was a curious affair but it nevertheless brought the violence directly to their door, leaving each citizen more fearful and wary than before. 

Glancing up at the sky between the trees, she supposed it must have been early afternoon by now. She still had time to reach her destination by the evening. It  had been a quiet ride from the city. Her travelling companion was an elderly gentleman looking for a ride to Oyster Bay some miles back, but now she was on her own. Her horse plodded calmly along the country road with her cart creaking as it rolled on behind it. They were coming out of the woods and passing by an open field when the thundering of hoofbeats began to rise up behind them. Turning around, she looked towards the sound to find a group of men on horseback, seemingly in uniform, though she didn’t recognize it. Their coats were a deep green against the fiery hues of the October leaves. Anxious at the approach of mysterious troops, she turned forward and tried to keep her equally anxious horse from bolting. She could hear them grow closer and closer, slowing as they reached the lone woman in her cart. 

“Good day, madam,” one called out to her, his horse trotting up beside her seat on her cart. 

“Good day, sir,” she turned and nodded to him, offering a polite smile. Her hands gripped the reigns on her horse even tighter, uncomfortable at  the sudden group of men that now surrounded her. There were more than she initially thought. 

“Where are you headed today, ma’am?” his voice was higher and softer than she expected it to be from his appearance. A tall man with a commanding demeanor and a mess of red hair peeking from underneath his hat. 

“Setauket, to visit a friend of mine who has fallen ill.” Remaining as polite as she could be seemed her only option at this point. 

“Ah, we were headed there ourselves. I’m Captain John Graves Simcoe of the Queen’s Rangers, His Majesty’s provincial forces. Seeing as you are travelling alone, and this is a dangerous area, if you wish, we can escort you to your destination,” he offered but almost as soon as he could, she replied. 

“Oh, I am perfectly fine. It isn’t very far from here, and the daylight will last a while yet,” she gave him a polite smile. “But thank you for such a kind offer.” 

“It’s no trouble at all. If you are sure, then we shall bid you a safe journey,” he flashed her a mirror of her own polite, if slightly forced, smile.

“I am, captain. Thank you.” 

“Well, then, madam, good day to you,” he inclined his head momentarily and urged his horse into a canter, leading his men ahead of her and away. Once a respectable distance away, they slowed to a trot again and disappeared into the green of the woods on the other side of the field. Her grip relaxed on the reigns as they left. Now, she could continue her journey in peaceful solitude, as that is what she had hoped for from this trip. She hoped that she might be able to change her scenery and search within herself for some new goal or purpose now that she had lost nearly everything. It was to be a prelude to a new life, one which she built for herself. 

The problem with handling everything yourself is that you must handle everything yourself. So when your horse gets spooked in the woods by a snake and bolts causing your cart to lose a wheel and throw you and your things, you must handle it yourself. Unfortunately for Mrs. Leighton, this is precisely what happened after the Queen’s Rangers, her potential escorts and protectors, were out of reach. After being thrown from her cart and being unable to find it again, she gathered what she had that was thrown with her and began her walk to Setauket, hopeful that she might find her friend’s home before nightfall and perhaps someone nearby might find her horse. 

Perhaps an hour after the sun had set, as she could only guess the time, she reached the town. Unsure of where her friend’s home was and unsure if she would be able to make it to there in the dark of the night unaccompanied, she stopped upon seeing a tavern in the center of town and entered, either for a warm bed or an escort to her friend’s farm.  

Stepping through the door she was greeted with a wave of warmth, as well as a plethora of soldiers, both red and green uniforms alike. The loud chatter died down as she walked through the room, resuming after she had passed. Glancing around, she looked for the innkeeper a moment before a woman came up to her. 

“Excuse me, miss?” Mrs. Leighton turned to see a woman bit shorter than her staring at her as she wiped her hands in her apron. “Are you alright? Can I help you? ” Her expression held a look of concern.

“Yes, I’m Mrs. Jessamine Leighton. I was travelling here to visit the Thompsons but I had a mishap with my horse and I had to walk all afternoon to get here. Do you have any rooms available? Or perhaps know someone who might show me to the Thompson’s farm tonight?” 

“Of course. I can show you to a room to clean up and I’m sure I can find someone to escort you,” she stepped aside and gestured to the stairs. 

“Thank you, Mrs-?” 

“Strong.” She followed the presumed innkeeper’s lead up the stairs and into a small room, where she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. 

“Oh, heavens,” she turned her head from side to side, surveying the damage done to her face and hair from her fall that afternoon. “I hadn’t realized I got this dirty.” Mrs. Strong brought her a pitcher of water to wash up and she tried to tame her hair back into reasonable shape, picking out a twig or two as she went. With her hair free of her acquired forest accessories and pinned up once more, she returned downstairs to see if Mrs. Strong had found her an escort for the evening but she caught sight of Captain Simcoe once more. He had such an unnerving stare that set her stomach on edge, even after such a limited acquaintance. As she looked at him, trying not to stare, he caught her looking and nodded to her as he had earlier that afternoon. Mrs. Strong suddenly pulled her attention away. 

“Mrs. Leighton?” Jessamine looked to Mrs. Strong, grateful for pulling her eyes away from that man. “I’m afraid most of the servants have left for the evening. I could walk with you if you wish to go tonight, I’m headed that direction to reach my own lodgings,” she paused for a second or two, “otherwise, I’d be happy to give you a room for the night.” 

“Well, I don’t wish to be a bother,” she began but was interrupted by a taller figure and a familiar voice. 

“Mrs. Strong, I couldn’t help but overhear that you are in need of an escort this evening,” Captain Simcoe invited himself into the conversation. 

“Yes, for Mrs. Leighton to the Thompsons’ farm,” she gestured to Jessamine, obviously uncomfortable at the male intruder. 

“I had an accident after you left this afternoon. My horse bolted and my cart overturned. I couldn’t find the horse or cart, so I walked to town,” she explained. Mrs. Strong looked a little confused. 

“You’ve met?” 

“Yes, we came upon her on the road, travelling alone and offered her an escort to town but she refused and we went our own ways. It’s terrible that that happened, please allow me to dispatch one of my men to escort you.” He again offered the safety of his men. 

“That’s very kind of you but Mrs. Strong just offered to walk with me,” she again refused as politely as she could. His Queen’s Rangers looked rough and different from other soldiers. They didn’t even mix with the other British regulars in the tavern, each group sitting separately. More unsettling though was the demeanor of their commander. 

“Then perhaps I could arrange an escort for the two of you. Even in numbers it remains unsafe for women to travel alone, especially at night” he offered again. 

“Thank you for your concern, captain. I’m sure we’ll feel much safer with one of your men closeby,” Mrs. Strong answered for the pair of them, already knowing the strength of Simcoe’s persistence. Still, Jessamine felt safer with Mrs. Strong. In that brief exchange, she could feel her resilience in her demeanor as she stared down Captain Simcoe. 

“Excellent,” he smiled at Mrs. Strong, a different smile from the way he smiled at Mrs. Leighton. His smile to Mrs. Strong was more open and eager, more genuine, than the polite smile he had given Mrs. Leighton. They had a history, that much was abundantly clear. “Collins, Turner,” he called out. Two men stood and stepped up, abandoning their table to stand at attention. “See to it that Mrs. Leighton and Mrs. Strong reach their lodgings safely,” the captain gave his orders. 

“We can leave once I’ve retrieved my cloak,” Mrs. Strong ducked away and into a back room. 

“How long are you planning to stay in Setauket, Mrs. Leighton?” Captain Simcoe asks, attempting to make polite conversation. 

“I’m not sure. I’m here to aid Mrs. Thompson who has fallen ill since she gave birth last month. I suppose I shall stay until she is well again and has no need of me.” She resisted the urge to glance back to where Mrs. Strong disappeared. 

“Would your husband not miss you?”

“My husband fell at Bunker Hill two years ago,” she confessed, looking down. 

“I’m terribly sorry about that,” he began when Mrs. Strong returned. 

“I believe we are ready to depart gentlemen,” Mrs. Strong announced, causing the two rangers to turn towards the door. 

“Thank you captain,” Mrs. Leighton inclined her head in a small bow as he had to her that afternoon before following Mrs. Strong through the door.  

Back in the cool night air, the two women walked side by side with their protectors close behind. 

“You don’t live in your own inn, Mrs. Strong?” Jessamine asked, interested in this seemingly peaceful town and its conflict. 

“No. It is no longer mine. Mr. Maarten DeJong bought it recently and I have been offered a room at Whitehall, the home of the magistrate and his family,” she spoke matter of factly, seemingly uncomfortable with the question.

“And your husband?” Jessamine did not want to pry but it seemed innocuous to ask about someone’s husband if they appeared to be married. Mrs. Strong remained quiet for several seconds. “I don’t mean to pry. I apologize if it is a sensitive subject,” she added hurriedly.

“He’s left town to join the rebels,” she sighed afterwards.

“Oh,” Jessamine wasn’t sure what to say, so the women fell silent, walking on in the quiet of the night. They didn’t speak again until they reached Whitehall, where they said their goodbyes and Jessamine thanked Mrs. Strong. Following their exchanged, the two rangers took the lead, walking Mrs. Leighton into the night. Finally, she saw the warm glow of a fire through the windows of the Thompsons’ farmhouse. The rangers saw her to the edge of the property and left. She thanked them but they stayed quiet, muttering you’re welcome as they turned to leave. She was ready to sit down and drop her bag after carrying it for half the day and night. After briefly knocking, the lock on the door unhitched and Jonathan Thompson stood in front of her illuminated by the dimming fire inside. 

“Mrs. Leighton. We were worried you had been delayed,” he greeted her. 

“I was, but I made it in one piece,” Jessamine smiled in relief as she stepped inside. 

“Helen is upstairs with Susanna. The boys are all in bed,” he informed her. “I can take your bag to your room.” 

“Thank you,” she let him take her only bag and glanced at the stairs. “Can I go see Helen? Would she still be awake?”

“She may still be awake. I’m sure she’d be glad to see you’ve made the journey safely,” Mr. Thompson gave a slight smile thinking of bringing his wife some relief. 

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” Jessamine smiled back and began up the stairs. The soft glow of candlelight crept outward as she opened the door to the main bedroom. Helen laid in bed with her baby beside her, her hands fiddling with the sleeping baby’s hair. Jessamine stepped silently into the room, fearful of waking the sleeping child. “Helen dear,” she whispered for her friend’s attention. Helen looked up with a sweet, welcoming smile.

“Jess, I’m so glad you’re safe,” she reached one hand out to her friend. Jess knelt on the floor beside her friend as she gripped her hand briefly. 

“She’s so precious,” Jessamine looked lovingly at the baby between them. Gently as she could, she brushed baby Susanna’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired,” she paused a moment, watching her daughter’s face, “and very weak.” Jessamine looked at her friend, studying her face and the weary expression that it now wore. “I can scarcely pick up more than Susanna weighs these days and I can’t be up for very long before entirely exerting myself,” she sighed. 

“Well, I’m here to help you with whatever you need,” she smiled at the new mother. “I’ll support you until you’re back to your old self.”  Helen puts a hand on Jessamine’s arm.

“Thank you, Jess. It is so good to see you again, to see you smile,” she adds. The women were quiet a moment.

“Give me a task to do,” Jessamine offered. Helen was quiet a moment, pondering what there was that needed to be done. 

“If you could help me with my outdoor chores and pick up a few things in town tomorrow, that would be a great help,” she said finally. 

“Then consider it done.” 

“You can take Jasper with you into town, it would be good for him to help you,” Helen added, in reference to her three year old son. “Jonothan can handle John and James, while I stay with the baby.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” she paused for just a moment, “Leave it all to me and don’t worry too much, okay? You have to let yourself heal.” 

“I know,” she relaxed against the pillow behind her as she smiled at her friend. 

“It’s time we all get some sleep,” Jessamine brushed the baby’s hair back once more. 

  
  


In the morning, Jessamine woke as the first light of the day began creeping over the trees. She dressed simply and tied on an apron before leaving her room to get a few chores done before waking the boys. John, James, and Jasper were ages eight, seven, and three respectively. The eldest was learning how to help his father with the farm and the second eldest helped his mother when he could. The youngest, little Jasper, would be Jessamine’s charge for the day. She was out the door before the sun touched the house to fetch water from the well. 

When Helen came downstairs, she found the children up and dressed and breakfast on the table. It was simple, bread and cheese with some apples picked that morning but Helen’s face lit up seeing everything going so well. Living without children, or family for so long, Jessamine had grown unaccustomed to family life but she jumped back into it for her friend’s sake.  

Once the little ones had eaten and Helen had settled in the parlor to do some sewing, Jessamine gathered Jasper and her purse to head out. Jonathan had readied their cart and a horse for her to take to town, and moments after climbing into the cart, she was off with the little boy in her lap. She sang little songs and pointed out things along the road to keep him occupied as they went.  Once in town and off the cart, she kept him close at her side as she retrieved the items on Helen’s list. Jasper was by no means a shy boy and he knew his mother’s instructions to stay with Mrs Leighton no matter what, but not even the best behaved toddler is perfectly obedient. While looking arranging her items in the cart, Jessamine caught, out of the corner of her eye, Jasper chasing a small group of chickens toward the tavern. Dropping a bag of flour from her hands, she hurried after Jasper. 

“Jasper,” she called out to the little boy as he went round a corner out of her sight. He stopped in front of the tavern doors just as they opened and Captain Simcoe along with two of his rangers were walking out, nearly tripping over the small child in front of them. They looked at the boy in confusion. The captain was just leaning down to speak to the boy when Jessamine came around the corner.  “I’m sorry gentlemen,” she apologized as she scooped the boy up and propped him on her hip. 

“It’s no trouble,” the captain answered. Before Jessamine could turn and return to the cart, Jasper was reaching for the captain’s hat, which he noticed and removed from his head to place in the child’s reach. 

“What’s that?” Jasper mumbled as he grabbed at the feathers. 

“They’re called feathers,” Jessamine replied with a smile, growing increasingly uncomfortable with Simcoe’s gaze on both her and the child. 

“Like birds?” the boy asked. 

“Yes, like on birds,” the captain answered before Jessamine could. She glanced up at his face and found him gaze at the boy with almost a look of wonder and amusement in his face. He wasn’t nearly as intimidating when he offered his hat for a toddler to play with. She found it almost astonishing given what she’d seen of him before. Perhaps she had no real reason to be fearful of him in the first place. For the first time in his presence these last 24 hours, her smile wasn’t merely polite. “He’s the Thompsons’ boy?” he asked her. 

“Yes, their youngest boy, Jasper,” she replied. 

“Delightful,” he muttered. 

“Captain,” she gained his attention, “I was wondering if you might keep a look out for my horse which I lost yesterday. It would be very helpful if you were to spread the word,” she hoped that her request didn’t seem too forward in his eyes.

“I see no problem asking my men to keep their eyes open for it,” he agreed. “I hope you’re able to find it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jessamine replied, looking back at the boy in her arms. “We should be going. We’ve occupied enough of your time and we should be heading back soon,” Jessamine interrupted. “Say goodbye to Captain Simcoe now, Jasper.” The toddler removed his hand from the feathers in order to wave goodbye. Replacing his hat, Captain Simcoe nodded to the pair. 

“Good day, Jasper. Mrs. Leighton.” He and his men continued on their way and Jessamine returned to their cart. Once everything appeared in its place, she boarded the cart again with Jasper in her lap and set off for the farm. Jasper was dozing off and on as he leaned against her on the ride home. She thought about the look on Captain Simcoe’s face when he realized that Jasper wanted to touch his hat. It was obvious how much he adored children, which seemed odd for a military man but he was after all a man and was not limited to being simply a soldier. She thought back to how badly her husband had wanted a family before the rebellion began. Once it had, it scared them both to think of what would happen should the war reach their doorstep. She hadn’t wanted it as badly as he did. She was more cautious, but that seems to be just how it is. 

Reaching the farm, she carried Jasper to his bed first, as the toddler was fast asleep. As she unloaded the provisions and arranged them in the kitchen, Helen came to help her. She asked how the trip went, if Jasper behaved himself. 

“It was fine. He did try to run off once but I caught him before he could get too far. Captain Simcoe stopped him as he was coming out of the tavern,” Jessamine explained as she put a sack of salt into the cupboard. 

“Captain Simcoe?” 

“Yeah, he was coming out of the tavern as Jasper reached the door,” she paused a moment, placing her hands on a sack of flour. “Jasper seemed very interested in the feathers on his hat so the captain let him touch them for a moment.” Helen was quiet as she looked at the remaining items on the table. “I met him yesterday on my journey here and he seemed a very disconcerting fellow. There was just something about his demeanor, but his eyes lit up at the sight of Jasper getting so much amusement from his hat. It was quite different from our previous encounter,” she stared ahead, not at anything in particular as she finished her thought, remembering her thoughts from the drive back about her husband. 

“That man’s not right,” Helen said softly, piquing Jessamine’s interest. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, this past spring he did some horrible things. He had arrested some men in town for being patriots, and he had proof, but then a group of rebels came, to rescue them. Some of them were related to the men that Simcoe arrested,” she continued in a hushed tone, as if she were telling a secret, “Reverend Tallmadge himself was arrested and who came to his rescue but his son and the rebel soldiers under his command.” She paused briefly, looking down at the items on the table. “It was awful. Simcoe wanted a full out battle but Major Hewlett just wouldn’t let him, so he snapped and shot Lucas Brewster out in the open. It’s a miracle that the rebels didn’t burn down the rest of the town, but I suppose, being his hometown, Benjamin Tallmadge chose to spare it.” 

“My goodness, that does sound horrific,” Jessamine wore a look of mild shock and concern. It certainly added more color to her image of Captain Simcoe. She had heard the official news about the battle but never before the details which Helen just relayed. He seemed to be gentlemanly enough to her but that dangerous air that she had felt about him initially had returned. 

“I’d stay away from him if I were you. Just stay away from all of them, redcoats and rangers alike,” Helen shook her head. The women finished putting everything away and Helen settled in the living room to work on some sewing while Jessamine went out to the field to help where she could with the harvest. 

The last of the apples were to be taken in that week before the frost came. Jessamine followed Jonathan and his few farmhands through the orchard, carrying baskets back and forth, as they needed and picking any apples that may have been missed. Some of this time she thought back to her husband but then her thoughts turned to her own place. Ever the worrier, she considered what she might do once Helen recovered. She didn’t know what was in store for her afterward but she wanted to know, she needed to know for herself. 

Where would she go from there? 

Her husband’s share in their inn in New York had been sold. She’d left that life behind her. She had no one in New York and no one in England, although it certainly seemed safer to go back some days. She had been a doctor’s daughter, a nurse, a wife, an innkeeper, and then a widow with no family.  The Thompsons were good and loyal friends, but once Helen was better, there would be no reason for her to remain and she would be alone once more. 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessamine settles into a rhythm with the Thompsons. On an errand in town, she has lunch with Anna Strong but one of the rangers decides to follow her on her way home.

###  England, April, 1774.

Silent, Jessamine sat by the window looking out at the countryside that she had come to call home. Although born in the colony of Massachusetts, she had not seen the American colonies since she was four years old. Ever a weak and sickly woman, her mother wished to return to her hometown for whatever remained of her earthly life, which would only last another two years. From the tender age of six, Jessamine was raised by her father, a prominent doctor in their small city. Now a grown woman of twenty-one, she sat at the window of her new husband’s family home and tried to commit to memory the image of the countryside surrounding her before she left it, presumably to never see it again. The rolling green hills and spots of trees. White sheep dotting a hill to the east. She could hear servants walking back and forth in the halls, carrying baggage down in preparation of the newlyweds’ departure to the colonies. Slowly she listened to the movement die down until the door opened and quietly, Benjamin approached her and laid a hand on her shoulder. 

“Dearest, it’s time to leave,” he always had such a gentle voice when speaking to her. She looked up at him then back to the window, but she stood. Closing her eyes, she tested herself, envisioning the countryside in her mind. It was there, as clear as the moment before. With a sigh, she glanced back at her husband before walking out. 

Down the stairs, she met her in-laws and kissed them both goodbye before taking her cloak about her shoulders. Once in the carriage, she and her husband left his family’s home en route to the ship that would carry them to their new life. He held her hand as they watched the scenery of their hometown fall away from them. Continually glancing to her face, he watched his young wife, afraid that this move would be too drastic too quickly. She didn’t pay him any attention, instead she wondered about how her life would change once all that she knows in the world is left behind her across the sea. 

###  Long Island, October, 1777. 

Mr. Thompson and a farmhand found her trunk when looking for her cart and horse the afternoon after she arrived. In the early evening, they found the cart but the horse was nowhere to be found. They suspected someone had stolen it as the cart didn’t show any signs of the horse breaking away on its own. Disappointed but not surprised, she felt some satisfaction in retrieving the remainder of her baggage. 

A couple weeks passed and the town had almost returned to normal, at least from Jessamine’s experience, after the kidnapping of Major Hewlett, which occurred just days after her arrival in town. She hadn’t met him but many people spoke highly of his character although not very well about his skill as a military commander. He seemed, to her, to have been a gentleman playing at being an officer but then again, she hadn’t met the man, only heard the town gossip. 

Jessamine managed to settle quite quickly into a routine living among the Thompsons. Now that the harvest was in, there was less to do and she spent much time indoors with the children or running errands into town. She even began to take Helen’s place in a sewing circle among the women in town. They met weekly at different ladies houses, all these ladies were more well off than the Thompsons but must have seen something finer in Mrs. Leighton that they invited her to join them. The ladies’ talk was often gossip and Mrs. Strong came up on a number of occasions. She was often not talked of in a kind way and Jessamine had wanted to interrupt but she feared she didn’t know Mrs. Strong well enough to feasibly argue in her favor, and there was a part of her that feared her acquaintance was not all she hoped she was. Nevertheless, Jessamine still hoped that their gossip was just that. 

Mrs. Leighton walked to town intent on picking up a tincture from the doctor for Helen but when the tincture was not quite ready, she decided to walk around town some more and just observe, and perhaps window shop or get a drink. She had already walked through town once but this time she strolled through with time to spare. It almost reminded her of home. Women and men walking about with different tasks to accomplish. Children playing together or following their mothers closely. If you didn’t look up at the men in red that surrounded the church on the hill, you might not even realize that there was a war on. She supposed it was like anywhere else; life goes on regardless. She paused outside a shop to examine some sewing notions on a display beside the door. Taking a bit of yellow silk ribbon between her fingers, she thought about the last time she wore such fine things. It must have been her wedding day. She had yellow silk roses adorning her dress. In her mind she could almost feel them again in her hands. Letting the ribbon fall back on the spool, she shook her head. Her wedding day felt like a lifetime ago but it had been less than four years since she was married and over two years since she became a widow.  

Glancing to the side, she felt like she saw someone watching her. Looking again, nearly as quickly, she saw three rangers talking together not far from where she stood. One of them was watching her, something malicious seemed to linger in his expression, causing her to return to the notions in front of the shop. He appeared to be one of the rangers from her first night in Setauket. Turner. Leaving them, she began to walk towards the tavern, hoping to leave the man’s gaze and have a drink, or perhaps meet Mrs. Strong again. 

Inside the tavern, she saw small groups of redcoats and rangers eating a midday meal and having a drink. Both sets of soldiers were again seated separately as before. A few men were simple civilians and they kept to their own as well. Glancing around she spotted Mrs. Strong carrying a pitcher through the dining room. Jessamine approached her with a friendly smile. 

“Mrs. Strong,” she spoke above the din of men chattering away. The other woman looked up and after a moment of surprise, her expression turned friendly, mirroring Jessamine. 

“Mrs. Leighton,” Anna greeted her, stopping beside her at the edge of the room. “What can I do for you?” 

“I’m passing some time in town this afternoon,” she began, “Would you bring me a bite to eat,” Jessamine glanced about again, momentarily observing her fellow patrons, “and perhaps a bit of wine?” 

“Of course,” Anna nodded and continued back into the kitchen. Jessamine took a table against the wall, near to a window, and continued observing the men in the tavern. After a few moments, she saw the three rangers come in and sit with the same one, Turner, within eyesight of her. Growing annoyed and a little fearful of him, she stared back, confronting him by locking eyes. Mrs. Strong broke their connection as she set a plate of food down in front of her. 

“Thank you,” she looked up at Mrs. Strong, pausing while Mrs. Strong filled a glass with wine, “Mrs. Strong, have you had lunch yet?” 

“No, ma’am. I was going to eat soon,” she replied. 

“Perhaps you might eat with me,” Jessamine invited her. “It is sudden but mealtimes are often better with company.” Although surprised, Anna gave a small chuckle. 

“I suppose, I could,” she set the bottle of wine on the table and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Within a minute or two, Anna returned with her own lunch and glass and took the seat opposite Jessamine at the table. 

“I apologize if it seemed like I was being impertinent. I admit I felt poorly about the awkward way our last interaction ended,” Jessamine explained as she poured some wine into her partner’s glass. “And I apologize for any offense I may have caused.” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Anna tried to reassure her with a smile but it seemed more polite than reassuring. 

“Still, I had no intention of prying, or forcing you to have lunch with me,” she paused to take a sip of wine. “I suppose I wanted to be on friendlier terms and this seemed like an opportunity,” she finally stopped talking and began eating. 

“Why would you choose to be friends with me?” Anna asked, beginning to eat as well. 

“Well, I don’t have many friends in town and I don’t know how long I’ll be staying,” she paused and ate another bite. “I tried joining in with the local sewing circle but it was more gossip than anything substantial. I don’t have an interest in it. Those women have nothing to do but gossip and embroider handkerchiefs.” She ate another bite. “Well, that and organize charities in order to paint themselves as saints.”  

“I don’t doubt that,” Anna chuckled briefly. “Although their charities do provide some relief to people.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt of the good that they produce,” Jessamine defended her observation, “only that their intentions are not always as pure as they choose to believe.” Quietly, Mrs. Strong nodded and smiled briefly in agreement and the two women fell quiet for several minutes, busy eating their lunch. 

“Is it difficult working here?” Jessamine asked. “Not just the fact that you used to own the tavern but I imagine dealing with a range of men at varying levels of sobriety everyday might have some difficulties.” She glanced back at Turner and the table of rangers, he was still there and still occasionally glancing at her. 

“I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to it. My husband and I built this tavern and ran it for years before the war broke out,” she paused, looking down at her plate. “After he was arrested as a patriot, all our property was sold or taken from us. Leaving me to work for someone else in my own home,” her tone grew increasingly hostile but restrained. 

“That’s awful,” Jessamine couldn’t imagine being put through so much. This must be part of why the other women in town had nothing but gossip and impolite things to say about her. It’s an awful thing for her husband to put her through. The two were quiet again for a few minutes as they finished their food. 

“You know,” Jessamine began, “if you ever need any help, I’d be happy to give it.” 

“That’s kind of you,” Anna gave Mrs. Leighton a kind smile. They were quiet a minute or two more, both unsure of what to talk about.

“I heard you were close with Major Hewlett,” Jessamine mentioned. Picking up her glass again to take a sip, she missed the fleeting wash of concern that flashed on Anna’s face. “It’s a terrible thing that happened to him. I never met him but I’ve heard some people speak highly of his character.” Jessamine wasn’t sure why she brought it up. Perhaps she didn’t know what else to talk about except happenings within the town. She certainly didn’t anticipate the change in mood that occurred in Mrs. Strong. Jessamine’s lunch partner seemed like she was in pain; it made her think of someone in mourning. It was a surprisingly visceral reaction to the mention of someone she didn’t realize had such a close tie with the woman across from her. 

“He’s a good and honorable man,” Anna said, trying to pull her emotions from her face. “I only pray he is able to return safely.” Jessamine already regretted bringing up the topic. She wanted to apologize again. She chided herself internally; she was always bringing up the worst topics with Mrs. Strong. 

“We’re all praying for his safe return,” she tried to assuage the other woman’s worry as she set down her glass. “I’m sure they’re doing everything they can to rescue him,” she tried again. She knew they weren’t but it was all you could really say. Mrs. Strong wore a sympathetic expression but there was something underneath it that seemed like she wanted to speak more on the subject of the major’s kidnapping, like she knew more than she could say. The women were quiet again, for a few more moments, about a minute in reality. Jessamine glanced back at her green clad admirer and caught his eyes again with her own. Clenching her jaw, she looked away as quickly as they had locked eyes. Thinking of the man who had been watching her that afternoon, the man’s commanding officer crossed her mind. What even was his relationship with Mrs. Strong? When they interacted before, there was obviously a history between them. 

“I am curious of something, Mrs. Strong,” Jessamine began, “and I apologize again if it seems impertinent. How did you come to know Captain Simcoe?” Anna’s eyes perked up, not in interest or any positive emotion, but something akin to fear and anxiety. 

“He was quartered in my home when he was a regular,” she answered curtly, looking down at her glass. 

“Oh,” Jessamine nodded, “It just seemed like you knew each other fairly well when you spoke that night I arrived in town.” 

“Yes, we know each other.” She seemed to want to leave the topic at that. The two obviously didn’t have a good relationship but instead, one which seemed to consist more of fear and mistrust than any amicable qualities. Perhaps he had been closer with her than she let on, as the ladies of the sewing circle suggested. Perhaps there had been some impropriety between them. Jessamine didn’t want to put stock into what was likely a few ladies’ gossip but not many people seemed to want to tell the full truth here in town. She decided to abandon her fact searching endeavors for the day.

“Lunch was delightful, Mrs. Strong,” she complimented her partner, “It was a pleasure to sit and be able to chat with you again.” Jessamine gathered her purse and retrieved payment for both her own meal and her acquaintance’s. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do that Mrs. Leighton,” Mrs. Strong protested upon realizing her partner wanted to pay for both meals. 

“Please, Mrs. Strong, I invited you to eat with me, please let me pay,” Jessamine offered her the money. Acquiescing, the other woman gave her a smile as she let the coins fall into her hand. 

“You can call me Anna,” she added, “if you like.”  

“Then I insist you call me Jessamine,” Mrs. Leighton returned her smile. The two women stood. “I don’t know when I’ll next be in town but I’ll believe I shall come by and say hello when I do,” Jessamine added. 

“It would be kind of you,” Anna replied. Jessamine nodded and turned to leave, glancing at Turner at the other table, still trying to be subtle about watching her. Upon saying her goodbyes, she left the tavern and began her leisurely walk back to the doctor’s. As she walked, she pondered what she should do if Turner persisted in following her. She would certainly report his harassment to his commanding officer but what if he should try to advance on her? Opening her purse as she walked, she glanced inside, poking a hand in. The dagger her husband left behind was still inside. If worse came to worst, she could make a stand and defend herself, although it certainly wasn’t an ideal outcome. On her walk out of the town center towards the doctor’s home on the outskirts, she didn’t notice Turner or anyone following her, but she remained on edge, hand on her purse in the case that she needed a specific item from it’s contents. 

The doctor was apologetic about the delay but it couldn’t be helped. He delivered the tincture to her hands and sent her on her way. It wasn’t long until sunset by the time she reached town again. As the doctor’s house was on the opposite side of town as the Thompson’s farm, she had walked through the center of town at least four times that day. Walking through the final time, she noticed the bustling crowd in the tavern and the few drunken soldiers who stumbled about, already heavily inebriated. Staying generally away from the lights where they might see her, she slipped through town, hopefully unnoticed. 

The nights were growing increasingly colder and left her shivering occasionally. Her feet and toes were growing cooler as the night began to creep over her and the sun retreated behind the trees. All she could hear was the hoot of an owl and the crunch of leaves under her heels, at least for a while. Almost halfway home, she heard more crunching that she herself could produce. Afraid to look behind her, she stopped and listened. Nothing. She walked a few steps more and stopped again. Slight shuffling for only a second after she froze in place on the path. She stayed in place several moments, suddenly feeling sure that she was being followed and she knew exactly who it must be. 

Beginning to walk again, a little quicker, she held her purse in front of her and unsheathed her husband’s dagger as discreetly as she could. Holding it in her right hand with the blade parallel to her arm, she hid it from the moonlight with the ruffles on her sleeves. The crunching of leaves grew faster than her own pace and she tried to turn before two arms came around her.  His arms jerked around her neck and waist, holding her tight against him. 

“Hello love,” he said in her ear. His breathing was unsteady as she struggled against him.

“Get off,” she replied, rage already boiling within her.  

“Keep struggling, love, it only makes me like ya more,” the tone in his own voice read as lecherous and terrifying. Swinging her right arm around behind her, she stabbed him in the side. It wasn’t deep but it was enough to loosen his grip long enough for her to push herself away. She spun around and put out her free hand, holding her only weapon close to herself, now pointing outwards. As soon as she had turned around, he came at her again, reaching for her knife. Moonlight glinted off the blood seeping to the surface of his coat. He grabbed her free hand and she stepped away to keep her knife hand free, barely eluding his grasp. For several moments, she could only struggle to move further to the side to keep her knife away from him. Finally she tried to strike. Moving fast to evade his other hand, she jabbed at his lower stomach and scratched him but he caught her arm. Jessamine continued to struggle, pressing back against him, pushing her knife closer to him. She hadn’t been able to really think since he approached her but she knew she couldn’t match his strength. She had to strike elsewhere. 

Despite her thick skirts, she kicked at his leg first while pressing him with her arms. She kicked again and this time she hit her mark between his legs, but not hard enough. He twisted her around while she was off balance from the kick and by chance she managed to sweep her leg against his and threw him off balance, knocking them both to the ground. Clinging to her knife for dear life, she pushed herself away as quickly as possible. She wiggled just far enough away to jam her knife between his ribs as hard as she could. Once the hilt hit his coat, she pulled it back out and scrambled to her feet. Grabbing her purse, she stepped back and looked at him laying on the ground. 

With wide eyes, she stared down at him. Glistening blood, black in the growing darkness, seeped through his clothes and onto the leaves and dirt below him. He cursed at her and shouted but she remained silent. Her heart continued to hammer in her chest, leaving her quite overwhelmed at what had just occurred. He could die. If he’s left alone for long, he could die. 

“I’ll be a murderer,” she barely whispered as she began to step backwards towards her destination. She turned and began to run. Holding her skirts up, still with a dagger in one hand and her purse around her wrist, she ran to the Thompson’s farm. Reaching the door out of breath, she walked right in and let her skirts fall once she stopped in front of Jonathan. Breathing heavy, she couldn’t speak yet but her host saw the blood on the dagger in her hand and began to panic. 

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes wide. “What did you do?” His voice was louder than normal and Helen called out from the top of the stairs. 

“What’s going on? Is Jess home?” 

“What happened?” Jonathan repeated, slowly reaching to take the dagger from her hands.

“A ranger,” Jessamine began, still breathless, “followed me… into the woods… he grabbed me… and I fought back,” she paused a little longer. “He wanted to hurt me. I know he did.” Jonathan had a hand firmly around the dagger but the woman’s grasp on it was unflinchingly tight. Helen reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the pair standing there in the entryway. 

“Oh, Jessamine,” she softly exclaimed upon seeing the blood encrusted blade in her hand. “What happened?” Helen hurried forward to take her friend’s hand and put a supportive arm around her. 

“A ranger attacked her on her way home,” Mr. Thompson caught his wife up. 

“Oh, my dear,” Helen tried to pull Jessamine closer while her husband tried to take the knife from Jessamine’s hands, but Jessamine pulled herself away from them both. 

“He’s dying,” she began, “I stabbed him in the side and he’s dying. He’ll bleed out soon if we don’t help him. He’s almost a mile up the road,” Jessamine hurriedly relayed her worries. Helen looked at Jessamine then locked eyes with her husband. Jonathan nodded and hurried out the door, calling to the farm hands that stayed in a nearby shack to get the cart and horses. Helen stepped in front of Jessamine and put her own hands over her friend’s. 

Jessamine stared down at the dagger; the blood had begun to dry on the blade. With some coaxing, Helen managed to pull the dagger from her friend’s hands as she began to relax, coming down from the adrenaline of the fight and her race home. 

Helen took the knife in one hand and took the purse off of her friend’s wrist, while the two women both remained silent. While Helen took the knife and purse to the dining table, Jessamine followed her. 

“I picked up your tincture from the doctor. I was late coming home because it wasn’t ready yet,” she stated plainly. Helen turned around empty handed and embraced her friend. 

“Jessamine, you should rest,” she began quietly, “Jonathan will take care of it as best he can.” 

“I know,” Jessamine replied. She wanted to watch them, follow them even, just to know what would become of the man she stabbed. They were quiet a moment before Jessamine simply walked towards the stairs, leaving Helen alone behind her. “I’m going to wash up and lay down.” Like a ghost, she mounted the stairs and did as she was encouraged, silently and swiftly. She undressed herself to her shift, letting her skirt fall to the floor and kicking her shoes off. Laying her skirts, stays, and jacket across the chair in the corner, she climbed into her bed, pulling her quilt up around her. 

In the dark, she couldn’t sleep. Although the struggle was tiring and only lasted a couple minutes at most, she stared into the darkness of the room and listened to the noises in the house. She could see Turner’s face in a grimace in her head. She could see the blood glisten in the moonlight and she could hear him grunting and groaning and cursing her. She didn’t feel bad about what she did.

He deserved it. She didn’t care if he died but she didn’t want to be responsible for his death. She didn’t want to imagine what might happen if she were brought to trial over his death, despite the circumstances. Consequences and mortal danger aside, she couldn’t suppress some sense of wonder at her own abilities in the heat of the conflict. Whirling around with her blade ready was, on it’s own, a curious, and not unpleasant, experience. She felt a surprising sense of confidence afterwards. What her husband had taught her was finally useful to her, and it may have saved her life. If she ignored the thought that she may be a murderer, it felt almost good. 

She thought again of Jonathan’s determination to handle the situation. Knowing him, he would try to handle everything for her, wanting to spare her any additional stress from the aftermath of the event, but it didn’t seem appealing, letting someone else clean up, letting someone speak for her. She would need to speak with Captain Simcoe about Turner’s actions as soon as she could. Although not relishing the idea of speaking with him, she would rather speak to him herself than allow her host to take responsibility for her actions and her life, like a husband or father would. If she was to create her own life for herself, then she must speak for herself. 

  
  


In the morning, she slept later than usual and no one bothered to wake her. The house was quiet, not even the children were making noise. She took her time dressing, choosing a dress less worn than her work clothes. Once her hair was pinned in place, she went downstairs. 

Helen sat with the children by the fireplace, reading to them softly. Jessamine paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching her friend for a moment, until steps behind her took her attention away. Jonathan hurried down the stairs behind her, stepping around her at the bottom. 

“Mrs. Leighton, good morning,” he nodded and greeted her. 

“What happened last night?” she asked without any greeting. 

“We took him to the doctor as fast as we could,” he answered. 

“Is he alive?”  

“Last I saw,” he paused, “he was barely breathing. If he makes it through the day, he’ll recover. That’s what the doctor said.” 

“Did you talk to Captain Simcoe? Or the magistrate?” she asked again. Before Jonathan could answer Helen stood up, leaving the children to join the adults. 

“Jessamine, are you hungry?” 

“Did you talk to anyone about it?” Jessamine inquired again, ignoring her friend’s interjection. 

“No,” Jonathan glanced at his wife, “we explained the situation to the doctor and helped him as best we could then returned home.” Jessamine nodded and looked towards the floor, thinking. “I was about to go find Captain Simcoe just now.” 

“No,” Jessamine snapped at him, “let me take care of it.”

“Ma’am, I can take care of it for you, really,” he paused to glance at his wife, “you don’t need to worry yourself with the legality of it, I will vouch for you. Stay in with Helen today.” 

“Yes, Jessamine,” Helen stepped in again, “let’s get you something to eat. There’s a mighty cold wind out today anyway, let’s stay in. Jonathan can speak with the captain for you.” 

“I appreciate your efforts, but I am not your wife, nor your sister, nor your daughter. You must let me handle my own affairs,” she turned her gaze from Helen to Mr. Thompson. “You may drive me into town if you like but I will speak for myself.” They were silent a few seconds. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Jonathan turned and walked out. 

Jonathan hitched the horse to the cart and waited until she had eaten and climbed into the seat beside him. The drive into town was nearly silent. Jonathan didn’t say a word, even when he stopped in the center of town. Jessamine didn’t particularly care if Mr. Thompson thought poorly of her demand for autonomy. She had every right to do so and in her mind it was a reasonable decision. If he chose to feel hurt about it, he would need to come to terms with it himself. 

“I’ll wait here for you,” he told her once she dismounted the cart. 

“Thank you,” she responded with a nod. Turning away from the cart, she walked towards the tavern, assuming it would be the best place to begin to look for Simcoe. It was nearly midday when they arrived in town and once again she entered the tavern when many soldiers, rangers and townspeople alike were taking their lunch. Her hesitance from the day before had disappeared after she had fought one of the rangers herself. She walked straight up to a table of them and they all stopped and stared at her. 

“Where can I find Captain Simcoe?” she asked firmly. They looked her over, all four of them. 

“He’s out in the fields, just south of the church,” a younger one spoke up to inform her. 

“Thank you,” she answered.  Jessamine turned and walked out as swiftly as she had walked in. The rangers stared after her, even Mrs. Strong caught sight of her hurrying out the door. 

She walked around the building, not even glancing to Mr. Thompson still sitting on his cart. With a purposeful gait, she walked up away from the buildings in town and out to the fields the ranger mentioned. Coming over the hill, she saw their green uniforms dotting the brown, barren field. They could clearly see her approaching and a few stopped and stared. As she drew closer, she found Simcoe standing beside a dark skinned man who was also in the green ranger uniform. The two looked at her and spoke to each other again before the other man began shouting orders at the other rangers drilling in front of them. Their captain however began walking towards her, hands clasped behind his back. The wind billowed around them, pulling bits of his hair out from under his hat and pushing her skirts close around her legs. He met her halfway into the field. 

“Good morning, madam,” he greeted her. She felt her heartbeat quicken and her stomach quiver now that she was under his gaze again. 

“I have something unfortunate to report to you captain,” she said, speaking over the din of the wind whipping around them. 

“I have a hunch that it might be about one of my men who didn’t return last night,” he responded. 

“Yes,” she confirmed. “He attacked me last night on my walk home.” Captain Simcoe’s expression changed from something neutral to increasingly concerned. 

“Were you hurt?” he asked, glancing over her. She stood tall, the confidence from her victory the evening before still boosting her resolve. 

“Only a few small scrapes from the struggle. He wasn’t able to complete his objective, I stopped him before it went too far.”

“You stopped him?” the captain tilted his head slightly in surprise. 

“Knowing the possibility of his death, my husband taught me how to defend myself if I ever needed to,” Jessamine explained, looking straight ahead at the captain. 

“It is a relief that you were unharmed but what happened to your attacker?” 

“I feared for my life when he assaulted me and in the struggle I was forced to use violence to defend myself. I stabbed him in self defense and I ran home,” she explained, watching the captain’s face as he absorbed her story. “I sent Mr. Thompson and his farmhands to retrieve Turner and take him to the doctor’s, where he is now. It isn’t clear if he will recover yet.” 

“You stabbed him,” Simcoe repeated. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“With what?” 

“My husband left me a dagger which I generally keep on my person, in case that I should need a weapon to defend myself,” she answered. 

“Its unusual that a woman such as yourself would carry a weapon, and even more unusual that you would be able to fend off a trained soldier on your own,” his expression grew even more surprised and almost amused at the thought of her unforeseen skill. 

“Am I to leave myself unarmed? Should I depend solely upon others for my safety? Upon men? The group which in general, poses the greatest threat to my safety?” she did not ask these questions out of frustration but a genuine interest in their conversation.  “I prepared myself for this, if I lost his protection, I would be able to defend myself.” 

“If he taught you to defend yourself with a knife, did he teach you other weapons?” 

“My father taught me to use a musket but I don’t have much experience with it. I know enough.” She watched his face and his expression. 

He seemed surprised and satisfied with what he’d heard. She was a curious woman, he thought. It wasn’t unusual for some women to know how to use a musket out in the countryside but to fight one of his men in hand to hand combat and nearly kill him was a feat. He was impressed. 

“I can assure you, madam, that Turner will receive a just punishment for his errors once he recovers,” the captain returns briefly to the original topic at hand. 

“Thank you, sir,” she replied. The pair was quiet a moment. Jessamine wasn’t sure if he was finished speaking to her and he wasn’t sure either. She was a curious woman and he was quite curious to know more about her now, if simply to find out how she managed to fend off one of his men on her own. She glanced out at the men in the field shoving their guns and bayonets forward in synchrony. He looked her over as if he was meeting her for the first time. A stern resting expression. Dark hair pinned to her head with small wisps whipping around her face and neck with the wind. In that moment she reminded him of someone else he knew. Mrs. Leighton was taller though, quite tall for a woman; she was only a slightly shorter than himself. 

“Perhaps,” he muttered under his breath, so only he could hear. “Mrs. Leighton,” he began, bringing her attention back to himself, “might I invite you to dine with me tomorrow evening, so that I might more thoroughly apologize for the misdeeds of my men.” Her eyes grew a little wider in surprise at the invitation. Glancing out at the field again, she held her mouth slightly open as she considered it, her hands both pressed on her stomach. Jessamine’s heart dropped then started pounding at his request. Dinner with him. 

“And, I’m sure you wouldn’t think me unreasonable to be curious about the woman who bested one of my men single-handedly,” he added. “Would you join me for dinner?”

It would be rude to refuse but she is unnerved by him. She is nearly constantly flustered by his presence but she is also increasingly curious. Having heard the rumors and gossip from other women in town and the warnings of her friends, as well as witnessing Mrs. Strong’s attitude towards the captain, she rationalized that perhaps dinner one evening might be enough to satisfy her curiosity about this man, and perhaps justify or discontinue her flustered reaction to him. 

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Writer's block hit me kind of hard for a little while, but here we are with part 2! Finally! Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> New chapters will be added first on my tumblr, Lana-Writes, then shortly after, updated here on AO3.  
> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! Thanks for reading!


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